Marathon Invasion
by Ziggy-Norton
Summary: The Hunters take over the pfhor empire, and set their sights on Earth. However, the Marine is in ancient Greece, being helped by someone from his past to recover from his mistreatment at the hands of Durandal and Tycho.
1. It's Like Meeting Pfhor the First Time

**If you haven't played Marathon, this story may not make much sense to you, but I strive to be as clear as possible. **

**I don't own any of the characters. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 1:**

R'Onari'Kell walked down the catwalk above the slave pit. His footsteps rang out loudly, and the slaves below fell silent. A visit from any member of the crew rarely boded well for them. However, for once the three meter hunter was not interested in a ritual sacrifice or a murderous frenzy. He was simply observing the numbers.

A trooper or fighter raised a fist at him. This, this was an insult. He would not let this slight go unpunished. He strode over to the jump pad that linked down to the pit below, shoving aside a blue armoured aide.

"I shall deal with this myself!", he declaimed angrily, knowing that any sign of weakness or dependance could mean his assassination or even execution.

As the familiar nausea of dematerialization then materialization suffused him, he let a hint of battle rage suffuse him. Deactivating the minor sedative drip, designed to stop a shipload of hunters from killing each other too much before the voyages end, he stepped off of the pedestal and through the airlock like set of doors into the room full of subjugated pfhor.

The prisoners shrunk back, but no one was pushed forward by traitorous fellow inmates.

"Give him to me, or I will torture you all until i find out who it was!", he roared, causing the front row to shrink back. "And then I will burn whatever is left of you after, and feed it too the rest of you!"

With unsurprising speed, the pathetic looking creatures shoved one of their own forward, then drew back as quickly as they could. R'Onari'Kell took three steps, then ran the offending fighter through it's chitinous thorax. In the same motion, he lifted it into the air as it coughed out it's yellow blood onto the cold, hard steel of the deck.

Point made, R'Onari'Kell returned slowly to the jump bad, reactivating his sedatives just before beaming up four meters to the side of his blank faced aide.

"Continue were you left off, tell me more about this communique the elder council sent. We are tasked with the minor glory of the conquest of the human planet are we not? Earth or some other barbarous name?", he growled as another, more junior assistant wiped the blood off of his shield

"Yes, Lord-Captain.", he replied.

R'Onari'Kell began to salivate at the thought of all the killing that would lake place.

The Marine found himself rather nervous. It was something he was used to, especially after the chaos caused by the W'rkncacnter. But this was something different. The normal straight lines of a human ship, or even the strange technological wonders of an alien ship, were non-present. Above him was a stretch of sky, something he had only encountered on Lh'owon.

_I must be planet-side_. _I wonder were I can find a terminal_. After all, what was the point of his presence, if not to complete some mission?

But his surroundings left much to be desired in the way of terminals, or even technology. The buildings were of a white stone, chipped into graceful columns and statues. The peacefulness of this setting relaxed him. He brushed his hand against a column as he climbed the short flight of stairs into one of the larger, high roofed buildings, wondering if the stone would be cool if he could feel it.

Suddenly, he realized he _could_ feel it, and with this realization, panic flooded him. Not only was the familiar crackle of his shields against an object not there, he also was unarmed! He did not even have his brass knuckles!

He darted between two pillars, his adrenaline powered battle reflexes kicked in. He dived between two of the pillars, scanning for pfhor or other hostiles.

As he began to realize the area was deserted, he took the time for a full self examination. Along with having no weapons or shields, he had no HUD or armour. Instead, he was wearing a large piece of fabric draped over himself and secured in some fashion, along with a pair of thick soles secured to his feet with straps of an unknown fabric.

The air brushing against his newly exposed skin was cool and refreshing, seeming to wipe away chafing from his body, something he hadn't realized his suit had been causing. He never even realized that the suit was not part of him.

The clouds drifted past. Nothing happened. _If someone was coming to attack me, they would've by now_. Carefully, he slid out of his hiding spot.

He turned, then saw a figure. He threw himself backwards, expecting a barrage of energy or metal. Instead, a voice called out.

"Is that you?", the voice said, softer and higher than any he'd heard before. "Of course, then again, you wouldn't know who you are, would you?"

The Marine poked his head out cautiously. He understood the words, though this was the first time he had heard words other than commands and brief comments from BOBs. He saw a figure that he guessed was human, except it had longer hair and two odd bulges of flesh projecting from it's upper chest. He turned to run, thinking it was a new form of the humanoid simulacrums that had interfered with him in missions past.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you.", it said, "I'm here to help you."

He ran away. After all, why would anything but a simulacrum say something as strange as that it would not hurt him? Everything tried to hurt him, even the humans. Trusting got you killed.

"The S'pht'kr sent me! I'm not here to hurt you.", it said, it's tone soft and slow.

He stopped. It could be a trap, but he would have plenty of time to run if it charged him. He faced it, taking a wide, defensive stance that he used for hand to hand combat.

"It was Durandal and Tycho that did this too you, wasn't it?", it murmured, more to it's self than to him.

The Marine waited patiently for instructions. Maybe it would tell him were some weapons were. He could use some weapons.

"The S'pht'Kr sent me to help you get better.", it told him, "I suppose you have a few questions about where this is and what's going on?"

He did, but he was more concerned about his weapons. Anyway, it wasn't his job to ask questions. He waited for it to continue it's inevitably long-winded speech about some amazing plan or some other irrelevant detail.

"You can't speak, can you?", it asked, stupefied.

He stared at it. He had heard of Compilers and Fighters, Troopers and Enforcers, Talkers in the form of AIs, but never Conversers. He chuckled silently.

"Oh no! Well, it's just another thing to deal with.", the Converser sighed. "Come with me please."

He followed, keeping his distance, and checking around corners from a distance. But nothing happened as they made their way among the temples and smaller buildings.

After a few minutes, they arrived at an archway in a large, open-air construct. The Marine could hear the sound of water echoing down the passageway. He felt a vague sense of trepidation. He was not afraid of drowning, but he almost had enough times to make him vaguely nervous.

As they entered the passage, he went into high alert, checking the ceiling for openings that might let a pfhor fighter drop down behind him after he had passed. The tunnel was clear however, and he passed through it uneventfully.

On the other side of the tunnel was a set of stairs. Following the Converser, he climbed them, arriving at the top surprisingly out of breath. This was also something new. What had happened to the boundless stamina that had let him run for hours and kill thousands of pfhor without pause?

After catching his breath, he looked up and promptly released the fore mentioned breath in a loud gasp. The Converser stood majestically down a few steps from where he had stood, arms outstretched. In front of it was a fountain, at least as the open topped building that housed it. It was a beautiful piece of sculpture, blending with the wild garden of shrubs and flowers growing on it's multiple tiers.

Seeing his shocked face, it laughed, and in a strange way, he found it attractive.

"Not something you see everyday is it?", it half-shouted over the roar of the cascading water.

He wished he could reply, but his mouth did not know how. It was strange, and confusing. As he followed it down, a drop of moisture ran down his cheek. He panicked, unsure if this was some new symptom of his new weakness, making a scream that had sent even Hunters running for cover in the past.

Shocked, the Converser turned to look at him, and saw his hands clutching to his face, which was now streaming with droplets.

"Oh! Don't worry!", it said, placing a hand cautiously on his broad arm, "Those are tears. They are just water that comes out of your eyes when you experience sadness or another extreme of emotion."

The Marine found the gesture strangely comforting, then slowly gasped out, in a halting, lisping, voice, "Tttt...eeerrz?"

"Yes, tears. They're not going to hurt you."

"Her...ttt meee... Ttt...eerz herrttt meeee..."

"No, they don't hurt you. You feel confused, so you're crying."

More calm now, the Marine stopped crying, and the Converser dried his face. _How can it not hurt me? Everything hurts me_.

Then the pair walked down the steps, to the bottom of the fountain.

"Look!", the Converser said, and indicated to the somehow still water at the base of the fountain.

The marine looked down, and saw himself staring back. He had seen glimpses of himself, in windows of ships and in the eyes of the creatures he mowed down, but never clear, and never this much.

He saw a man, like the BOBs, but maybe a bit taller than average. Most of his body was a sickly white, except for the part of his face where his helmet had not covered him, where the skin was an angry red, burned from the heat of explosions too close to bare remembering without a shudder.

"Meee?", he gargled out inquisitively, striving to get his tongue, an organ he had never had much use for, to wrap around the word in a way that would not distort them.

"Yes, that's you.", the Converser stated. "At least, that's what Durandal and Tycho made you into. My job is to change that."

"Eww... Yah-eeww ih-saaa?", he asked, trying to get the feel for the words.

"Who am I?", it said, "I'm Leela."

**This is not the end. There will be more coming soon. **


	2. Next Battle Turn Left

**Chapter 2:**

"Code Yellow! Activate station defences!", Fred called loudly from the com station.

The other three members of the crew on the hundred-or-so long monitoring station chuckled. This wasn't the first code yellow called in the past month, which was only a few days in, and undoubtedly wouldn't be the last.

"I'll go switch on the shields.", volunteered Sven, getting to his feet.

"Thanks man!", said Erik, "Though it's just gonna be another false alarm. Probably another bunch of Nar looking for scrap to sell or something."

Sven pushed off, floating up towards the next level, the defence station. The station was equipped with only a single artificial gravity module, an archaic extruding arm that spun fast enough to create the feeling of roughly Earth gravity, which housed the sleeping quarters for the four of them.

Ignoring the standardized protocol, Sven didn't put on the vac suit, only grabbing the Zeus-class fusion rifle, then proceeding to pressurize the airlock and the defence station.

The portal opened with a hiss of slightly lower pressure, and Sven entered. The door slowly closed behind him, then the next one opened. He silently cursed the stupid security regulations that required all defences to be only manually accessible to prevent potentially hostile programs from overriding the security from outside. He ducked under the door before it had fully opened, unable to patiently wait for what was a dull, repetitive task, to be complete.

The room was small, only about four meters in diameter, and circular in shape. A bank of controls dominated the far wall. Sven pushed the power button, lighting up the terminal and the keys on the dash board.

Suddenly, a hissing, static-like noise came from behind him, strangely muted for such a small room. He spun, recognizing the familiar sound of teleportation. But he did not see anything that could have produced the noise in any recess of the room.

Putting the noise down to fatigue and a faulty airflow valve, Sven turned his back, and began the process of activating the station's shields and weapon turrets. His fingers flew across the keys, bringing to mind a grandmaster of piano.

But the hunter that had teleported in, cloaked, behind Sven, had never heard of a piano grandmaster, nor would it have appreciated music in any form. Needless to say, any artistry in the manner in which Sven activated the computer systems was lost on it, and it had no reservations about impaling him through the back with it's heavy shield.

It howled into the comm system built into it's helmet, informing R'Onari'Kell directly that the station could now be boarded by a full landing party.

On the bridge of the _K'lam'tay_ R'Onari'Kell gave the hunter equivalent of a smile, then deactivated his sedative drip as he stepped onto the jump pad...

"Lay-lah?", the Marine said, staring at the decidedly not AI before him.

"Yes, it's me. From the _Marathon_.", it replied.

_ That's not possible. The _Marathon_ had been captured by pfhor. How could she have survived?_ The Marine took a step back, even more ready to fight now. Obviously this wasn't really her. The physical presence was one factor that ruled it out, and the way she, no, _it_, he reminded himself, dealt with him was another. Leela had always been objective, giving him his orders, not a figure who seemed appalled by what he had been 'forced' to do.

_I enjoyed that. Or at least Durandal told me I enjoyed killing. And for what other purpose than to follow orders do I exist?_ His opinion reaffirmed, he took another few steps back, then turned and ran.

"Wait!", it called after him, stretching out a hand, it's face strangely twisted, with tears of it's own falling.

_Dumb of me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now I lost time to find weapons, and more importantly, my armour. _He broke into a full sprint, but could only keep it up for a couple hundred meters before he stopped, panting. He turned, and saw the imposter chasing him, the length of material draped over it's body hindering it's attempts to chase him.

He paused. Some instinct found compassion for this _thing_. He stared back at it,strangely allured by it's shape. He shook his head. _Must be some mind power_, and that was that. He continued running.

He soon got lost among the winding buildings, and without his HUD auto-mapping for him, he was in trouble. He also had not seen a single terminal or weapon as of yet. He _had_ spotted a strange organic structure with a large, solid central portion with smaller excursions of the same material however, so he had broken one of the thinner bits. He felt slightly more secure with this staff in hand.

But still not secure enough to enter one of the buildings. Though this was probably where he would find what he was looking for, he was reluctant to risk an ambush.

Eventually however, he realized he had no choice. He would be caught by the _thing_ eventually, and he might find supplies inside the buildings.

He saw a fairly small one, which he hoped would be poorly guarded, and entered tentatively, staff first to set of and ambush prematurely. He could fight well with staffs, and had a fair deal of practice, sometimes using the pfhor he killed's staffs when he had run out of ammo. Though he had never figured out the trigger mechanism, he could still use them to better effect than his fists.

The interior of the building was dark and quiet. He was not put off his guard however. He checked to either side of him as he entered the room, making sure it actually was empty. It was a small room, with a few chairs grouped together to one side, and a couple pairs of footwear similar to his own in the corner. He moved to the next room, pushing the door open with his shoulder, then hurling himself backwards to avoid any ambush. But no hail of bullets greeted him, and so he poked his head out through the door, and saw a form cowering by a small stone box with a fire inside.

This figure looked like the BOBs that the Marine was accustomed to, with short black hair, and a body relatively similar to the Marine's own. Reassured ,the Marine stepped inside.

"Noh herrr-teh yuh-eww.", the Marine said, hoping that the fearful human understood him.

"Leave me alone!", the figure screamed at him, "Who do you think you are, breaking into my house like this?"

Taken aback, the Marine assumed what he knew was a possibility had occurred; the humans here were not friendly to him. He brought the stave up, preparing to swing at any unfriendly movement.

"Get out! HELP! HELP!", the human yelled.

The Marine suddenly realized that there was danger here. This human would attract others, and then he was going to be in trouble. Taking his staff upwards, he swung it back down with great speed, crashing into the human's skull. He kept it up, beating up and down until the figure stopped screaming.

The threat dispatched, he looked around the room for any possible weapons. He spotted a knife, and picked it up. Turning, he left the way he had come in.

Suddenly, he saw a group of humans who had congregated outside of the house. He stopped, then seeing none were armed, stepped out, pushing the slack-jawed humans out of his way. They squawked in protest and terror, knowing him for a warrior by his bloody staff.

Raised into action by the blood, they began to shout and throw rocks. The rocks hurt the Marine.

"Herr-teh meh!", he shouted, and brandished his knife. The charged them, and got to work. He killed three of them with ease, but then they started to throw rocks from a distance, but the Marine was in his element. After two more fell, they turned tail and fled.

Knowing more would come soon, he also ran. As he went through the buildings, he passed other humans, who looked at him with mild panic. He was unfamiliar with the area, but he kept going in the same direction, and eventually he reached a low wall. He vaulted over it, and sat, panting.

This was going better. He had figured out who his enemy was, and he had some weapons now. He looked over the knife. It was weak looking, but seemed okay. The staff would soon need to be replaced. But he was doing good. The places where the stones had hit him didn't hurt that bad, and it had been easy enough to deal with the humans that had attacked him. They reminded him of the ones aboard the _Marathon_, who died with the smallest provocation, be it badly aimed shot or alien staff.

After catching his breath, he looked back over the wall. He couldn't see much, but after waiting for a few minutes, he saw a patrol of armoured men with larger knives than his, and staffs with pointed metal tips. He ducked back down, then started to think. He was at a disadvantage here. The enemy was armoured and armed now, and aware of his presence.

He started to think of a plan. He would attract a group of the humans, then pick them off one by one in the maze of streets. Hopefully they couldn't move too fast.

He vaulted the wall again, then stealthily approached the group. He screamed a war cry, and charged. The men looked at him in horror, unsure of how anyone could be so crazy as to attack them with such minimal armament.

"Stop!", one of them shouted, but he was upon them. He showed no mercy, and took advantage of the weak spot in the leader's armour, right at where his ribs ended. He then dived backwards, and ran off into the distance, leading them on a chase for a few minutes before doubling back to pick up the fallen human's weapons.

Thus armed, he swivelled to face the oncoming soldiers. He brought the staff up and jabbed it into the first soldiers face, ducking under a staff thrust, while stabbing at the soldiers behind the first with the large knife he had picked up.

Keeping the body of the soldier with the stave through his face between him and the humans, he managed to render their staffs useless, while armouring himself a bit. He ripped the staff out and kicked the body at the remaining four men, who tumbled back.

He hurled the staff, and took out one more of them. The remaining three stared at him in horror, all the fight gone out of them. He strode over and with a quick slash, slit both their throats.

He grunted in satisfaction, then went about taking the armour off of one of them, then using another as a reference, put on the armour. He also picked up a pair of the long knives and a trio of staffs. He wandered into the city, worrying about the strange rumblings in his stomach...

Six patrols later, he tried putting pieces of his defeated enemies' flesh in his mouth and grinding it with his teeth, something that felt strangely natural, almost instinctive. After he had consumed a forearm, his stomach returned to normal.

He continued through the city, but as the light began to fade from the sky, he noticed that he was lacking energy. His eyelids began to droop, and he felt the urge to lie down and relax. Unsure, but feeling that his instincts had guided him well thus far, he found the wall and jumped over again. He spotted a area with a large amount of green organic objects, which would provide good cover. He curled up amidst a swath of some prickly green things of medium height.

Leela walked through the streets of the Greek city. She was worried. There had been reports of killings and cannibalism throughout the city by a figure who showed no mercy and spoke no word, a being who killed and left but a few survivors. Already there were dozens of extra patrols and the patrol size was now doubled.

It was the Marine, no doubt. He was discovering the biological needs of his new body, but his mind was still warped with the programing that Durandal and Tycho had used to control him. He saw life as a series of missions, with a clearly defined start and end, and a set of instructions at each terminal. A life as neatly packaged as a clip of ammunition, but with infinitely more potential for death. Left with no goals, the Marine would keep killing until there was no one left to kill, then he would die, searching forever for a terminal that was not there.

Something needed to be done, and fast. The guards were good at what they did, but not good enough to deal with the Marine. He would just keep picking them off until there were none left. She needed something stronger.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Turning to face the other occupant of the luxurious room in the temple, she gave him a few instructions. He hurried out, glad he was not the messenger who would be calling in this particular favour...

The Marine woke a few hours after the sun came over the horizon. He stretched, then began to think of what his plan of action for the day would be.

He wasn't sure what to do. This place was so different from any place he'd ever been before. He got up off of his hands and knees and he looked around. The air had a quality that he felt as sort of cold and refreshing in the organ that was situated in the middle of his face. He inhaled through the organ, and felt _good_. It was not something he was used to feeling. He had experienced a few moments when he had been aboard _Boomer_, Durandal's captured pfhor scout ship, when he had been able to plug into a socket for a couple of hours and turn off his mental functions until he had been called back into combat.

He wondered if maybe he could stay. After all, he didn't seem to have a mission, and maybe after he killed all of the humans, he could just feel _good_ all the time. No killing, just not killing. But wouldn't that be vacuum? And there was nothing worse than vacuum...

He poked his head over the wall, and saw that there was nobody around. He quickly vaulted over and started to move through the buildings. He was off-put by the absence of people. He loosened the long knives in their holders. He approached the placer where he had seen himself in the water.

Suddenly, the ground shook.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. _

The Marine whirled around. Behind him stood a trio of gigantic men. All of them possessed but a single eye, and all three were armed with knives nearly as tall as the Marine.

The Marine turned and ran. He needed time to think of how to deal with these beasts. He drew one of the staffs and hurled it at the leading monster. It fell back a step, the staff protruding from it's chest. Suddenly, it released a booming laugh, and pulled the spear out and returned it towards the Marine.

"Give up now! None can evade a cyclops, let alone three. See how your puny spear does not hurt me?", it boomed, stepping closer. "Through this act we will pay a debt we have owed, and can return to living as we did before."

The Marine ignored the monologue, and snatched up the staff, or _spear_ as he now knew it, and kept running. As he turned yet another corner, he saw a line of the humans, with shields held out front of them, barring his way. He turned around, and saw the cyclopes in heated pursuit.

_I guess this is it__. _He drew his knives, preparing to cause as much damage as possible. But then an idea hit him with the force of a charging Hunter.

He grabbed the spear and hurled it. It flew through the air with deadly force, and smote the cyclops through the eye.

It fell backwards, screaming in pain. But to the Marine's sup[rise, it did not die, simply curling up and moaning. He ploughed on regardless, and the second sunk into another cyclops' eye. He too fell.

But by now, the other cyclops was on his guard. He raised his hand, and there was only a small slit for a target. The Marine drew back his arm to aim... and fell forwards as a sharp pain erupted through his back!

The soldiers behind him had fired a projectile at him. His armour had saved him, but he new there would be more following this one. He twisted and was back on his feet immediately, and sure enough, more of the small, sharp objects were in the air. He dived down, and they zinged over his head. He rolled, and another volley missed him. Panicked, he ran towards the cyclops, sliding under a slice of the massive knife. He rolled up, and drew his own knife with the same movement. With a quick slash, he had the gigantic monster clutching it's bloody wrist, dropping it's weapon.

Following this manoeuvre through, he came up behind the cyclops and stabbed repeatedly, drawing the other knife. The cyclops went down, and the Marine turned to face the soldiers, blood pounding in his ears, his vision red-tinged.

The soldiers looked t him with terror and grim determination. The Marine crouched, ready to dodge a burst of projectile fire or a charge. He wasn't sure if he could take them all, but he was sure he could get most of them.

A few arrows whistled near him, but none close enough to make him worry unduly. The soldiers seemed to be conferring between themselves in hushed tones. Suddenly, they charged.

Having anticipated such a move, the Marine threw himself into their midst, a whirlwind of slaughter. Men fell in swathes, victim to small, precise slashes across gaps between head and chest armour. He roared with a savage pleasure, the bodies piling up at his feet.

A knife got under his guard, cutting his leg, releasing a spurt of blood. The soldier was stabbed through his armour, and flew back with the force of the stab. The Marine continued to fight, but his knife had been lost in the soldiers body. He ducked down under a sweeping knife thrust, and picked up one of the shields from a fallen soldier. Unfortunately, the arm came with it, and it had to be severed.

Now equipped with a better method of defence, the Marine let the soldiers fight him to a wall. Grasping the severed arm, he kept the shield out, and played more defensive. Slowly, one by one, the remaining soldiers were cut down, until only a couple of the men remained.

"Great Ares! Grant me strength!", cried one of them, throwing himself forwards at the Marine.

The last two fell quickly, and the Marine looked at the battlefield. Out of the score or so of soldiers who had been in the original complement, none remained alive. Only one of the cyclopes was dead, but the other two were bloody messes, with the odd projectile sticking out. They had crawled up into the door frame of one of the large stone buildings that bordered the plaza where the battle had taken place. They called out loudly, but seemed harmless.

Suddenly a wave of weakness washed over the Marine, and he collapsed, unconscious.


End file.
